


A Family Problem

by apacketofseeds



Category: Keeping Up Appearances
Genre: Gen, Humor, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-26 01:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16209710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apacketofseeds/pseuds/apacketofseeds
Summary: “Daisy said something about turning on the television,” Hyacinth mumbled. Then, louder: “Why would anyone ever need to turn on a television set, Richard?”“Perhaps there’s something on the news she wanted us to see?”“Oh, my goodness.” Hyacinth stopped mid-step. “Do you think there might be something on the news she wanted us to see?”





	A Family Problem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [debirlfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/debirlfan/gifts).



> Thank you for requesting Hyacinth dealing with the supernatural. I had so much fun writing this and re-watching my favourite episodes. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and Happy Halloween!

The genuine Wedgewood Jasperware clock in the hallway chimed nine times, and the postman had yet to arrive. Hyacinth abhorred late post; it was most uncouth for letters to and from those of high social standing to arrive in an untimely manner. To think they called themselves the ‘Royal’ Mail! Her Majesty would not stand for such tardiness, so why should she? She’d have a word with the postman about it once he finally arrived.

The telephone rang beside her. She hadn’t scheduled a telephone call into her morning. If it was for the Chinese takeaway again… Though, it would undoubtedly be her Sheridan, and she always had time for Sheridan. He was such a caring, well-behaved boy, calling to check on his mummy.

Richard spent most of his post-retirement mornings reading _The Business Times_ at the breakfast table, hoovering up his Marmite on toast before Hyacinth snatched it away. The newspaper was late today, so he decided the radio would provide a good distraction. Just as he reached for the dial, Hyacinth’s shrill voice answered the telephone in the hallway. He best not make any noise while she spoke with somebody important – somebody _she_ considered important anyway. He took back his seat and listened instead. He was remarkably good at listening.

“The Buck _ét_ residence, the lady of the house speaking. Oh, it’s you Daisy. . . .  What do you mean, ‘turn the telly on’? You are aware that I only use my television set on royal occasions, aren’t you, Daisy? . . . 'It doesn't matter'? Of course it matters! You were so eager to tell me a moment ago. If you cannot share something with your sister, then who can you? . . . Hello? Hello!”

Richard was prepared when Hyacinth burst into the kitchen a moment later. At least he’d finished his toast.

“Richard! I just received the strangest telephone call from Daisy.” She began pacing about the kitchenette. “The line went silent and when I called back she was engaged.”

“It’s probably Rose on the phone with one of her gentleman friends.”

“She said something about turning on the television,” Hyacinth mumbled. Then, louder: “Why would anyone ever need to turn on a television set, Richard?”

“Perhaps there’s something on the news she wanted us to see?”

“Oh, my goodness.” Hyacinth stopped mid-step. “Do you think there might be something on the news she wanted us to see?” Before Richard could say anything further, she gasped loudly, covering her mouth with both hands. “It’ll be daddy! He’ll have done something embarrassing and ended up on the local news!”

“I doubt that.” Richard stood and made his way over to the radio again.

“You’re right, Richard. It’ll be something courageous daddy’s done. How silly of me. How could I have doubted him?” She rushed back out into the hallway.

Hoping the radio would prove that daddy wasn’t being lauded a local hero (or villain) live on air, Richard tuned it to the news channel. However, as the dial turned, it found nothing but static. In fact, it was wall to wall static on every frequency. No music. No talk. Not even that damn double-glazing advert. The thing must’ve broken.

“Daisy remains engaged!” Hyacinth called out. “They’ll be inundated with calls concerning daddy’s courageous act.” She was back in the kitchen in a flash. “There may be television crews there. We should attend, Richard. Go put on your best tie. We need to ensure daddy is seen in the best possible light. He may even receive a formal honour for his bravery. How very exciting!”

 

~

 

Richard drove slower as they passed number 32, as always.

“I know she’s looking,” Hyacinth said, about Mrs Barker-Finch. “I can feel her lower-middle class stare piercing through her net curtains. She’ll be green with envy about daddy. Mind the car, dear.”

“Which car?” They hadn’t seen another driver since they left home.

“The one parked on the curb. It might topple suddenly.”

“Minding the unstable car.”

“I wonder what daddy has done to be featured on the local news. I expect he’s rescued a young lady in distress or an animal in peril. Just think! I’ll be interviewed about my brave daddy while casually mentioning my charitable work. Daddy and I are finally receiving the press attention we deserve.”

“Hyacinth,” Richard interrupted. “Do you not think it strange that we’re almost at Daisy and Onslow’s and we haven’t seen one other person?”

“I expect they’re all glued to their television sets, keeping abreast of daddy’s story while it unfolds.”

“Yes,” Richard said, rolling his eyes. “That’ll be it.”

 

~

 

The council estate was unusually quiet. Then again, without a sense of purpose or occupation, why would the residents be up at this time of the morning? Daisy and Onslow often slept in long past noon.

After navigating the broken gate, Hyacinth instinctively dived against the hedge before the dog made a sound from the car. When no barking came forth, she peered through the window, keeping her distance of course. The dog sat on the backseat, still and silent, and made no attempt to scare her. Most peculiar. Another peculiarity was the front door to the house swinging open.

“Hello!” Hyacinth called, not daring to knock her clean knuckles against the filthy and badly-mended glass. “Daisy? I’ve come about daddy.”

As she entered the living room, Hyacinth noticed the telephone handset hanging down from the cabinet. The television was on but showed only static, hissing quietly in the otherwise silent room. The back of Onslow’s head greeted her, as usual.

“Onslow?” When he didn’t make his customary grunt, Hyacinth stepped around his armchair to catch his attention, noting how worn the carpet was in high-traffic areas.

“Daisy?” Hyacinth yelled again. Daisy really should have ensured her husband was in a fit state to receive visitors, especially ones that might have cameras. If he couldn’t find it within himself to wear a shirt, the least he could do was change his vest to one not covered in dribble.

A groan came from the kitchen: Daisy. She never had managed to wash up without making a fuss.

“Richard? Find Rose and check on daddy, will you? I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Things were often off-kilter in Daisy’s kitchen but Daisy sitting on the floor wasn’t usually one of them. She sat slumped on the dirty tiles against one of the cupboards that still had a working door.

“Oh, do get up off the floor, Daisy!”

Hyacinth assisted, finding it rather difficult to lift her sister when she was the only one making any effort. But she was stronger than she looked; it was amazing what affects a little housework and fighting off the advances of amorous Majors had on the body. Daisy toppled back once on her feet, but Hyacinth managed to prop her against the kitchen counter to stop her going down again.  

“One should never be on the floor unless praying in church,” Hyacinth said, wrinkling her nose at the pile of dirty crockery in the sink. “Even then, one uses a cushion.”

Daisy grunted behind her.

“I’ll make some tea for the reporters. I suspect they’ll turn up soon.” She moved the plates out of the sink and ran the water. “Those associated with the tabloid press can use beakers. I think it best the broadsheets use mugs. It’s less than they’re used to, of course, but sometimes we must make do with what we’re given.” _Quite_ , she thought, squinting at the bottle of non-branded washing-up liquid lying on the side. “I’m afraid I didn’t have time to package my Royal Doulton with the hand-painted periwinkles.”

Richard burst in, out of breath, the shock of his entry sending a squirt of lemon fresh washing-up liquid high into the air as Hyacinth gripped it in surprise. “Hyacinth! It’s Rose!” He stared at Daisy a moment, startled and panting, then turned back to his wife.

“Oh, do compose yourself, Richard. I cannot abide hearing people breathe while they’re speaking. Heavy breathing is so uncivilised.”

“She’s… well. Read for yourself.” He passed her a pink notebook with ‘Rose’s Diary - KEEP OUT’ written on the cover in glittery cursive. “The last entry.”

“I will _not_ read the private diary of my sister, Richard. Quite frankly I’m appalled that you have been so bold.”

“Just read it, Hyacinth. Please.”

Hyacinth did hate it when Richard looked at her like that. Those pleading eyes. As if he needed to plead with a devoted wife who did anything asked of her.

“Oh, as you wish.” Turning to the latest entry, she read Rose’s rushed scrawl aloud.

“‘Dear diary. This will be my final entry and this time the threat is real. No, it’s not a man. It’s more serious than that. When I got home from my date with Mr Winkworth this morning, our Onslow had the news on. The big story was that an airborne virus had spread through Britain overnight. It started in the cities but got to our estate eventually. The newsreader said it turns people into zombies, but not like the brain-eating ones you see at the cinema. It shuts down our brains, leaving us as shells of who we once were. It starts off by making you lose the motivation to do anything, which is why I didn’t notice any difference to Onslow at first, but it quickly puts you in a sort of waking coma. I don’t know if there’s a cure. If anyone reads this entry, I want you to know I love my family, even our Onslow. Please take care of daddy and feed the dog. And tell that Mr Winkworth…’” Hyacinth had come over very pale. “It stops there.”

“The pen was in her hand,” Richard said gently. “She was just... staring at the ceiling.” Daisy groaned beside them, a hint of sadness lingering behind her vacant stare. “What are we going to do?”

After taking a moment to compose herself, Hyacinth said softly: “Richard, these people are my family and I love them dearly. If they are lacking in manners and response more than usual, the least I can do is… help around the house, tidy up a little, make things more comfortable for them until help arrives.” Suddenly overcome with dizziness, she grabbed the edge of the counter. “I must sit down first, though. This is a lot to take in.”

Helping his wife into the living room, Richard slumped onto the couch beside her, equally overwhelmed by the situation. It was unlike Hyacinth to settle on any chair in this household, let alone sink back into the cushions. “So,” he said after a moment, wringing his hands, “what should we tackle first?”

Hyacinth blinked at him. “What are you talking about, dear?”

“I thought you said you wanted to help with the tidying.”

“Oh, that!” She gestured as though it was of no importance. “The place is clean enough.”

That confirmed his suspicion: Hyacinth was infected.

He should try and do something. Sheridan might know what to do in this situation, if he was still with it. Or maybe someone at the council knew the protocol for widespread infection. The phone was only behind him and he knew the numbers.

Though, on second thought, he couldn’t be bothered.


End file.
